Essential Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (106 page)

50
(p. 605)
This, however, may prove not to be the case, and the papers, if ultimately found, will be given to the public:
The overall content of the “Note” suggests that Poe the joker is at work, but also that truth may come to us clothed as jest. Once more, truth-reality issues are raised, along with evasions of whether or not supposed missing portions of the novel will ever be recovered. The comment on lost pages recalls escape clauses in many other literary works, wherein an author uses an unavailable or destroyed manuscript to keep readers guessing—and as such to compound the mystery element in the work itself. The drift in the “Note” is one from near-jocularity to apparently serious and almost cosmic levels. In this manner Poe conveys his “learning” to the public, even to paraphrasing the Bible (Job and Jeremiah), as if to seal his “scientific” subject matter with divine authority.

Poe’s lyrical language—especially in his poetry—has inspired musical works by composers as diverse as Dominick Argento, Philip Glass, and Hanspeter Kyburz. When he died in 1918, Claude Debussy left an unfinished opera based on
The Fall of the House of Usher
for which he wrote both the libretto and the music; titled
La Chute de la maison Usher
(1911), it was first performed in a reconstructed version at Yale University in 1977. Australian composer Larry Sitsky completed a one-act opera based on the same tale that premiered at the Sydney Opera House in 1973.

Russian composers have been particularly drawn to Poe, whose works traveled to Russia via the French translations of Charles Baudelaire and other French poets. Nikolay Tcherepnin wrote
Three Pieces for Orchestra after a Tale of Edgar Allan Poe,
Op. 59 (1933); the work is often listed as Le
Destin
(
Destiny
)
.
Formalist composer Nikolay Myaskovsky, while still a pupil of Rimsky-Korsakov, based his 1910 symphonic poem
Nevermore
on Poe’s “The Raven.” In 1913, after reading a translation of Poe’s poem “The Bells,” Sergey Rachmaninov created an inventive choral symphony that employs four different bells in its four movements to symbolize the stages of life Poe’s poem considers.

In 1976 the Alan Parsons Project released
Tales of Mystery and Imagination,
a rock music album based on poems and stories by Poe, including “The Raven” and “The Fall of the House of Usher” The track “Doctor Tarr and Professor Feather” quickly became a top-40 hit. The music was digitized and released as a CD in 1987, with narration by Orson Welles.

Poe was a literary innovator whose fiction inspired new genres and numerous authors. His treasure-hunt mysteries “Ms. Found in a Bottle” and “The Gold-Bug” influenced Robert Louis Stevenson’s
Treasure Island.
Poe’s “The Unparalleled Adventure of One Hans Pfaall,” which chronicles a balloon flight to the moon, and “A Descent into the Maelström” inspired science fiction tales of Jules Verne and H. G. Wells. Verne also penned a sequel to Poe’s novel
The Narrative of Arthur Gordon
Pym,
entitled
The Sphinx of the Ice Fields
(1897).

Among the masters of the modern short story who admired Poe were James Joyce and D. H. Lawrence, and Flannery O‘Connor claimed to have read nothing but Poe for years. Poe has even been the subject of short stories, as in Russell Banks’s “The Caul” (1978), which begins: “You are in Richmond, Virginia, and you can’t remember your mother.”

With “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” Poe is said by some to have invented the detective story, although he wrote only three tales that fall into that genre. Poe’s wry, perceptive sleuth Dupin—who also appears in “The Mystery of Marie Roget” and “The Purloined Letter” —is the precursor to the most famous detective in literature: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes, who made his first appearance in
A Study in Scarlet
(1887). Conan Doyle wrote, “Edgar Allan Poe, who, in his carelessly prodigal fashion, threw out the seeds from which so many of our present forms of literature have sprung, was the father of the detective tale, and covered its limits so completely that I fail to see how his followers can find any fresh ground which they can confidently call their own.” Yet the popularity of the Holmes stories has endured, and American fiction has seen the rise of modern masters of the detective story, like Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler. The Mystery Writers of America, established in 1945, presents annual literary awards, called the “Edgars,” for the best works in the genre.

Poe’s work strongly influenced French poets of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, including Arthur Rimbaud, Paul Valéry, and Paul Verlaine. Charles Baudelaire and Stéphane Mallarmé were not only inspired by Poe’s genius; they also translated his work, wrote about his life, and helped establish Poe’s international reputation.

In 1852, three years after Poe’s death, Baudelaire published translations of seven Poe tales with a prefatory essay lauding the American writer’s talents
(Histoires Extraordinaires,
1852). T. S. Eliot actually preferred Baudelaire’s translations to the originals, observing that Baudelaire “transformed what is often a slipshod and a shoddy English prose into admirable French.”

Baudelaire’s volume of poetry
Les Fleurs du mal
(1857) was largely inspired by Poe’s work. In the sonnet “Recueillement” (“Meditation”), Baudelaire betrays a Poe-like affinity for lonesomeness. The poem, as translated by William H. Crosby, opens, “Be still, my Sorrow; hold to your tranquility.” In a letter to the French painter Édouard Manet, Baudelaire wrote, “People accuse me of imitating Edgar Poe! Do you know why I translated Poe so patiently? Because he resembled me.”

Mallarmé, a leader of the Symbolist movement who became acquainted with Poe through Baudelaire’s work, translated even more of Poe’s tales and poems. Mallarmé increased Poe’s renown with his sonnet “Le Tombeau d‘Edgar Poe,” in which he wrote, “Such as to himself eternity’s changed him, / The Poet arouses with his naked sword” (translation by Roger Fry). As W. H. Auden noted in his “Introduction” to
EdgarAllan Poe: Selected Prose, Poetry, And Eureka,
“Not many authors have been invoked as intercessors with God in an hour of need, as Poe was named by Baudelaire when he felt himself going mad; not many have been celebrated in poems as beautiful as Mal larme’s Sonnet.”

Poe’s work has been illustrated by many artists, including Henry Clarke, Gustave Doré, Edmund Dulac, Leonor Fini, and Arthur Rack-ham, but the best-known illustrations are those by Édouard Manet. One of the French Impressionists, Manet is most famous for his 1863 painting
Olympia,
which caused a scandal at the Salon of 1865 but eventually revolutionized the art world. Mallarmé, who was translating “The Raven” in French, asked his friend Manet to illustrate the work. Manet completed five etchings, which were printed as lithographs; their limited edition of “The Raven” was published in 1875.

Comments
&
Questions

In this section, we aim to provide the reader with an array of perspectives on the texts, as well as questions that challenge those perspectives. The commentary has been culled from sources as diverse as reviews contemporaneous with the works, letters written by the author, literary criticism of later generations, and appreciations written throughout the works’ history. Following the commentary, a series of questions seeks to filter
The Essential Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe
through a variety of points of view and bring about a richer understanding of these enduring works.

Mr. Poe has two of the prime qualities of genius, a faculty of vigorous yet minute analysis, and a wonderful fecundity of imagination. The first of these faculties is as needful to the artist in words, as a knowledge of anatomy is to the artist in colors or in stone. This enables him to conceive truly, to maintain a proper relation of parts, and to draw a correct outline, while the second groups, fills up, and colors. Both of these Mr. Poe has displayed with singular distinctness in his prose works, the last predominating in his earlier tales, and the first in his later ones. In judging of the merit of an author, and assigning him his niche among our household gods, we have a right to regard him from our own point of view, and to measure him by our own standard. But, in estimating the amount of power displayed in his works, we must be governed by his own design, and, placing them by the side of his own ideal, find how much is wanting. We differ from Mr. Poe in his opinions of the objects of art. He esteems that object to be the creation of Beauty, and perhaps it is only in the definition of that word that we disagree with him. But in what we shall say of his writings, we shall take his own standard as our guide. The temple of the god of song is equally accessible from every side, and there is room enough in it for all who bring offerings, or seek an oracle.

—from
Graham’s Magazine
(February 1845)

When all is said, it is not in the power of man to make Poe altogether sympathetic. I cannot find it in my heart to like either his portrait or his character; and though it is possible that we see him more or less refracted through the strange medium of his works, yet I do fancy that we can detect, alike in these, in his portrait, and in the facts of his life as now most favourably told, a certain jarring note, a taint of something that we do not care to dwell upon or find a name for.

—from
The Works of Edgar Allan
Poe (1874)

 

Almost without the first sign of moral principle, or of the concrete or its heroisms, or the simpler affections of the heart, Poe’s verses illustrate an intense faculty for technical and abstract beauty, with the rhyming art to excess, an incorrigible propensity toward nocturnal themes, a demoniac undertone behind every page—and, by final judgment, probably belong among the electric lights of imaginative literature, brilliant and dazzling, but with no heat.

—from
Specimen Days & Collect
(1882-1883)

 

Poe was not a single-poem poet, but the poet of a single mood. His materials were seemingly a small stock in trade, chiefly of Angels and Demons, with an attendance of Dreams, Echoes, Ghouls, Gnomes and Mimes, ready at hand. He selected or coined, for use and re-use, a number of what have been called “beautiful words,”—“albatross,” “halcyon,” “scintillant,” “Ligeia,” “Weir,” “Yaanek,” “Auber,” “D‘Elormie,” and the like. Everything was subordinate to sound. But his poetry, as it places us under the spell of the senses, enables us to enter, through their reaction upon the spirit, his indefinable mood; nor should we forget that Coleridge owes his specific rank as a poet, not to his philosophic verse, but to melodious fragments, and greatly to the rhythm of “The Ancient Mariner” and of “Christabel.” Poe’s melodies lure us to the point where we seem to hear angelic lutes and citherns, or elfin instruments that make music in “the land east of the sun and west of the moon.” The enchantment may not be that of Israfel, nor of the harper who exorcised the evil genius of Saul, but it is at least that of some plumed being of the middle air, of a charmer charming so sweetly that his numbers are the burden of mystic dreams.

 

—from
Poets of America
(1885)

In nearly all [Poe‘s] tales of idealistic terror or beauty, of which the “House of Usher” is an example, the hero is Poe himself; while they constantly revolve round situations suggested by his own history. To consider Poe is to consider these tales, and to consider these tales is to consider Poe....

The tales are vital with a wrongful vitality. They are told by heroes whose sensitive nerves have the preternatural acuteness of initial insanity; colour, sound, scent—every detail of description in their rendering becomes morbidly distinct to us, like the ticking of a clock in the dark. In the “House of Usher” this feature becomes conscious of itself; the hero hears the beating of a woman’s heart while she stands without the closed door. Beauty and terror are alike portentous, “larger than human,” like figures in the mist. The landscapes are preterhuman, painted as with fire, and blinded with a light such as only streams from the fountains of the dreaming brain. The heroes live by choice in chambers out of nightmare, where curtains like molten silver fall in cataracts on carpets of burning gold, lighted by coloured flames which writhe from antique lamps, and perfumed from carven censers; on golden tapestries phantasmal figures waver in the rushing of a continuous wind. Amid such surroundings women of unearthly beauty, or the shadow of Poe’s own child-wife, pass and die, and dying, give rise to tragedies of impermissible terror; the Red Death incarnates itself among the fated revellers; or a man flies through life pursued by the visible presence of himself. Beauty which cannot separate itself from terror, terror haunted by beauty, are the powers which rule this world of an opium-dream.

It is the deliberate turning away of a man from the normal; it is the obsession by the desire for better bread than is made from wheat. When Poe theorises on landscape-gardening, he avows his preference for the artificial style, but must have a “spiritualised” artificiality, an artifice which suggests the more than mortal. Yet this world at which the human heart aches becomes real while we read—there is the genius. The art is admirable in its sureness and delicacy. The imagination has seized these things of beauty and terror with more than the closeness of a poet—with the closeness of a dream; and there is no closeness, either to terror or beauty, so appalling as that of a dream. The scope is strange and narrow, but the mastership is absolute.

—from
Academy
(September 28, 1901)